


come quickly and abide

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Exhibitionism, M/M, Missionary Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Priest Crowley (Good Omens), Sexual Roleplay, Temptation, Voyeurism, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21775399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Aziraphale would really like to know why he's just come across Crowley in a cassock.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 446





	come quickly and abide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearwaldorf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/gifts).



> This is very vaguely set in Ye Olde Times so please do not try to assign any era to it and call me out for historical inaccuracies based on that timeline. Don't fault my research; I didn't do any.

Life on the road is not to Aziraphale's liking.

His fellow travelers can kindly be described as zealots working for the glory of the lord; they could unkindly be described as fanatics who are far too intense about everything. Aziraphale is the only one of them with two brain cells to rub together. The part about liaising with the good people who give them food and sometimes shelter, that Aziraphale is skilled at, but everything else about it is, at best, wearing.

They crest over a hill and come upon a little church. The setting is idyllic, fields of green on either side, a well-maintained graveyard in front. The front door is presently open, and people, dressed simply but in a hygienic way, one that speaks of enough money but not too much, spill out of it.

In the center is the priest, a tall man with fire-red hair, and Aziraphale has to close his eyes and then look again to make sure he saw the right thing.

The man, who is of course Crowley, looks up to see Aziraphale's flock. He strides over, looking confident and, well, very priestly. "Ah, it looks like we have some weary travelers seeking lodging-" He stops, his eyebrows going up over his dark glasses.

"Crowley, what on _Earth_ -" Aziraphale says.

"Keep your voice down, for Satan's sake," Crowley hisses. He looks back and forth; the parishioners and the missionaries are eying each other, distracted. "Come on."

Aziraphale is dragged into what must be Crowley's rooms, which are sparse, to say the very least. "I leave you alone for five minutes-"

"I haven't seen you in fifty years-" Crowley protests.

"And you're suddenly impersonating-"

"I am not impersonating anything, I am _ordained_ -"

"In what ceremony, hm?" Aziraphale says. "With what aspergillum?"

"Ah," Crowley says. "Might have, um."

"Might have what?" Aziraphale demands.

"Look, how is not important, but maybe some people deconsecrated the font for me," Crowley says, and Aziraphale's eyes go wide as saucers. "Oh, come off it, kind of a shame I couldn't have saved the holy water but it's not like there's not loads."

"And why are you walking around and not hopping about?" Aziraphale asks.

"Well I couldn't stop at the font, could I?" Crowley snaps. "Had to deconsecrate the whole church." Aziraphale grabs the wall for strength, and Crowley rolls his eyes. "I didn't desecrate the graveyard or anything, I have _standards_."

"This is foul, even for you," Aziraphale says.

Crowley flings out an arm, broadly indicating the church. "What have I done? What have I undone? I didn't desecrate it, I just evened the score. Whole place is morally neutral now. People who would have been good are good, people who would have been bad are bad. That's how church is anyway."

"May you be forgiven," Aziraphale says.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Crowley says.

"What are you even doing here?" Aziraphale says. "What could have possibly possessed you to join the ministry, other than some dastardly scheme?"

"Oh, what don't I do for a dastardly scheme," Crowley says.

"This isn't your style," Aziraphale says. "You're a planner. You pull pegs to make structures collapse. That's what you tell people, anyway."

"I'm glad you think so highly of me," Crowley says, looking pleased.

"What do you think you're doing in one little church in one little town?" Aziraphale asks.

Crowley motions him to the window, lifting back the curtain and pointing. "That one there is the set-aside brother of a king, who doesn't know I know he's planning on a rematch. Without me, he'll never be convinced that might makes right, and a war will never start." He points out a young woman. "That one is a beauty beyond compare, but without me she'll never learn that her body is hers to leverage. Don't know who she'll ruin yet, but she's got this vicious streak that I'm really into. Bound to bring down lords, that one, if she just makes the connection."

"Surely you're not going to sleep with one of your parishioners," Aziraphale says, aghast.

"Yeah, haven't quite figured that one out yet," Crowley says, rubbing his chin. "Doesn't seem fair, to be honest."

"You love things that aren't fair," Aziraphale says.

"She's also not my type," Crowley says.

"She looks like you," Aziraphale says.

"And I'm not as much of a narcissist as you have always thought I am," Crowley says. "What about you?"

"What do you mean, what about me?" Aziraphale says.

"This whole conversation has been you interrogating me about my intentions," Crowley points out. "You didn't just stumble on by my humble abode for no reason, traveling with a bunch of unwashed missionaries."

"Yes, well, ah," Aziraphale says.

"Out with it," Crowley says.

"It's just that, ah," Aziraphale says.

"You pissed off the home office, didn't you," Crowley says, grinning.

Aziraphale sighs hard. "I was informed that my actions in the previous century were not to the standard of humility that Heaven would like to cultivate, so I was instructed to shepherd this wandering flock."

"For how long?" Crowley says.

"I have no idea," Aziraphale says. "But they look like they're all going to die of God knows what by week's end so it might solve itself."

"You are so much crueler than I could ever be," Crowley says fondly.

"I'm not cruel," Aziraphale says. "I'm realistic."

"You're certainly not that," Crowley says.

"Can we please just go back to the churchyard?" Aziraphale says. "You haven't properly invited us in, and the order is very big on that."

"The order of what?" Crowley asks.

Aziraphale sighs. "The Traveling Order of St. Cuthbert, the Misunderstood."

\--

Crowley's church is actually quite nice, though it sets Aziraphale's teeth on edge a little to walk into a church that isn't really a church. The people of the congregation seem generally nice, though most of them look at Aziraphale's charges like they're some sort of interesting animal and not fully human; this is how people generally look at them.

But everyone gets a nice bath, and some new old clothes are donated by the parishioners. Aziraphale gets considerably farther with them than the other members of his flock, because he is polite and smells nice and doesn't care to discuss religious doctrine unless he is specifically asked a question about it. He's just not the raving type, which is why he captains the proverbial ship and, indeed, why Heaven gave him this punishment to start with.

Aziraphale doesn't even try to pretend like he's not going to interfere with Crowley's work. He sits down with the king's brother and tries to plant some seeds of conscience in the boy's head, some ideas of the value of earned respect; he's not a bad person, just a little thick and a lot angry, and Aziraphale hopes he's gone a little way towards making all their lives a little easier.

They've been there a few days, and Aziraphale is walking past Crowley's lodgings. The way the church is situated relative to them, there's a wall that's usually in shadow, just a short length tucked into a corner. He's almost reached it when Crowley falls into step with him.

"Hello, Father," Aziraphale says, though it still makes him want to roll his eyes. 

"Would you like to help me, good missionary?" Crowley says, and Aziraphale knows immediately that he's up to something.

"Oh no," Aziraphale says, as Crowley backs him up against the wall. He doesn't get enough time to see if anyone is looking; from what he can tell, people don't come by here often, and there are only a few spots where one would not be completely exposed.

"Come on, Aziraphale, do us a favor," Crowley says, putting his hands on either side of Aziraphale's body.

"What favor would that be?" Aziraphale says, arching an eyebrow at him.

Crowley leans forward, lips brushing Aziraphale's ear. "She thinks we don't know she's watching us. She already thinks something is up."

Aziraphale swallows, and very carefully he flicks his eyes around, spotting the girl Crowley pointed out to him as she attempts to hide. "Your special charge?"

"I want to give her an object lesson," Crowley says, and Aziraphale has a hard time keeping his head straight when Crowley purrs like that. "How else will she learn that her body is valuable if she doesn't see the kindly missionary using his to get what he wants from the corrupt priest?"

"This is awful, and you are awful," Aziraphale says, but he doesn't move.

"Just give me a little, angel," Crowley says, kissing his neck.

"That's what you always say, and it always ends up being a lot more," Aziraphale says.

"And yet you keep letting me do it," Crowley murmurs, and it makes Aziraphale bite his lip.

"This is a favor," Aziraphale says. "That is all."

"You keep telling yourself that," Crowley says, cupping Aziraphale's cock through his breeches.

"Have you considered my offer?" Aziraphale says, a little louder, and he gives Crowley a significant look.

"This is most irregular," Crowley says. "But the church does require recompense for our generosity."

"I have but one thing to give you," Aziraphale says, and he rolls his hips against Crowley's. "I trust it will repay my debt."

"Oh, most assuredly," Crowley says, smiling devilishly. "This will provide ample-"

"She's gone," Aziraphale says quickly, as Crowley's favorite disappears from her hiding spot.

"Fuck," Crowley says, and Aziraphale realizes they're still pressed together.

"I suppose we can call this off now," Aziraphale says carefully.

"We can," Crowley says, grinding against Aziraphale. "I don't think you want to."

It's been a long time since he and Crowley were in this position, and Aziraphale can't honestly say he doesn't miss it. He doesn't let himself get into other entanglements, because frankly they're not as good, no match for Crowley's fever-hot skin next to his, Crowley's long fingers leaving bruises on him.

Crowley kisses him before he can think about it any longer, and Aziraphale's arms go around his waist. Crowley feels better than he remembered, and Aziraphale lets his knees spread, Crowley's thigh between his own.

"I missed you, angel," Crowley says, before returning to the kiss.

Aziraphale, for the first time in what has been weeks and feels like years, just lets himself enjoy the moment. Any taste of Crowley feels decadent, like a thing hoarded to be savored bite by bite. He needed some decadence; all this prostration does not agree with him in the slightest.

Aziraphale spies something out of the corner of his eye, something that makes him pull away. "She came back with a friend," he says softly.

"Who is it?" Crowley asks. "Mousey haired girl, big tits?"

"Crowley," Aziraphale chides.

"What, _now_ you're offended?" Crowley says.

"You don't have to be so crude," Aziraphale says. "But yes, her."

"Guess we just have to keep going, then," Crowley says, and Aziraphale kisses him this time, his hand tangling into Crowley's hair; if he's going to do this, the least he can do is make it convincing. He can feel Crowley hard against him, a hot, solid presence against his thigh, and he feels like he's wanted it for ages and ages.

Finally Aziraphale can't take it anymore, pulling off to stroke Crowley through his cassock, his movements more impatient than anything else. "How in God's name are you supposed to have sex with that thing on?" Aziraphale asks.

"Loads of buttons," Crowley says. He unbuttons a few, realizes he's gone too low, and unbuttons a few more higher up.

"You mean to tell me you're naked under your vestments?" Aziraphale says, shocked, as the cassock splits, revealing Crowley hard and ready.

"This thing is hot as Satan's asshole," Crowley says. "I take my relief where I can get it. Now get those off so we can have fun."

Aziraphale actually is wearing underthings, but all of it ends up in a tangle at his feet that he kicks away; it can neither be improved nor disimproved by ending up dirtier. Crowley hoists him up, pinning Aziraphale's body with his, and Aziraphale wraps his legs around his waist.

"Wait," Aziraphale says.

"Yeah?" Crowley says.

"Am I supposed to like this?" Aziraphale asks.

"Huh?" Crowley says.

"I'm giving my body to the errant priest as payment," Aziraphale says. "Do I like doing it, or do I hate that I have to?"

"Oh, now there's a question," Crowley says. He thinks for a moment. "I'm going for a pleasure-is-power thing, so yeah, I think you like it."

"Oh," Aziraphale says, louder. "Oh please, good priest. Please take my offering."

"Okay, okay, you don't have to sell it that hard," Crowley says. He presses inside, the way slick for him, and the way Aziraphale's head tips back against the wall is not part of the act.

"Crowley," Aziraphale sighs.

"Missed you too, angel," Crowley says, and Aziraphale feels a warmth in his chest.

Crowley starts to rock into him, moving in long strokes; Aziraphale sighs, wrapping his arms around Crowley's shoulders to hold him close. Somehow, despite the fact that they're being watched and doing this where anyone could walk by, it still feels intimate, close. Crowley presses his face against Aziraphale's neck, mouthing at his skin as he moves faster.

Aziraphale groans. "Oh yes, Father," he says, and Crowley growls against his throat. "Please let me repay you. Take my body."

"You are too fucking much," Crowley says.

"In a bad way?" Aziraphale asks.

"Don't you ever dare stop," Crowley says.

Aziraphale doesn't try to hide the way Crowley is making him feel, like they're interlocking parts, like Aziraphale can't be complete without Crowley inside of him. It's a thought that gives him pain when he's alone, but with Crowley, it feels self-evident, brought into joyous bloom in private, stolen moments.

"Can't hold out much longer, angel," Crowley says.

"Surely you can wait," Aziraphale says. "Just a little while longer, just for me?"

"I never should have taught you to tempt," Crowley says.

"That was hardly tempting," Aziraphale says. "Cajoling at most."

"You," Crowley says, like it explains everything. He grabs one of Aziraphale's hands, leading it to his cock, and Aziraphale strokes himself quickly; he wouldn't actually be that mean to Crowley, but he wants them to get there together, to share this moment of breathless tension and shuddering release.

"Please, Crowley," Aziraphale says. "I'm here, please-"

"Oh fuck," Crowley says, as Aziraphale starts to clench around him, and he spends immediately, thrusting up into Aziraphale and gasping against his skin. Aziraphale clutches him close, his hands fisted in Crowley's cassock, panting as he tries to regain his composure and fails.

"Good priest, I-" Aziraphale starts, then he looks over. "Oh, they've gone."

"That's fine," Crowley says. He does a brief miracle to clean them up, then does up his buttons, going from pornographic to holy within the space of a few moments.

"I will never get used to you in that thing," Aziraphale says.

"Pray that you don't have a reason to," Crowley says. He brings Aziraphale's hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. "Meet me in London when this is over?"

Aziraphale swallows. It's a bad idea, it will only ever compound things, but he could no more say no than cut off his own arm. "I think we might arrange a brief meeting."

"Brilliant," Crowley says, kissing him on the forehead, and despite all of it, Aziraphale feels a little blessed.

\--

The king's brother becomes a master metalsmith, whose prestige rivals the king. The beautiful and vicious girl becomes a second wife and commands a kingdom.

And as for Aziraphale and Crowley, they turn out okay too.


End file.
